This was a trip I took to the Tuscany Photo Workshop to teach. The workshop is not in a big town, but I think in a small one called Buonconvento. I took my class to Siena quite a bit. These pictures are labelled Siena; all others are in the “region” of Tuscany– God knows exactly where, I certainly don’t.
When I’m shooting in Italy I’m having a great time. Tuscany, Vicenza, Venice, Rome, Burano. It doesn’t matter. Italy is a gas. The people are always warm, funny, patient, and ok with being photographed.
There is joy photographing in Italy: the piazzas, the beaches, the buildings, eating. It’s a great place to be.
I even studied Italian and observed in horror that the more I studied the worse I got at it.
I mention this not to memorialize my technical incompetence, but to further explain why I can’t label the precise location of each image.
Let’s explain my problem: My relationship with maps is an adversarial one. I approach maps with apprehension. I know that once I unfold it, the map, with some sort of perverse means, will never ever allow itself to return to its pure virginal shape.
Maps, once disturbed from their two-dimensional form, begin subtly at first, and then with increasing power, to fill whatever three dimensional void they can find.
I won’t even talk about trying to read the map. Oh, I know north from south and all that stuff, I was in class that day. But finding out where a town is, or a road, and most importantly, where the hell I am, is way above my pay grade.
I hope that will answer all questions as to my whereabouts. And for God’s sake don’t complicate my life by suggesting a GPS.
